Just Relax
by KatyaChekov
Summary: America is working late, and Russia decides to give him a nice Russian-style massage to help him relax... Kinkmeme fill, shamelessly de-anoning. Rated T because of lack of actual sex and mention of anything really adult.


**I don't own Hetalia.**

This was an old fill for the kinkmeme. Already de-anoned elsewhere, just...felt like adding it here, since I was already posting stuff.

**----------**

Alfred F. Jones sighed as he stretched, taking a moment to try and untense muscles cramped from hours of being hunched over a desk. He took his glasses off to rub at his scratchy eyes before looking at the clock. He groaned aloud.

'Geez, it's already 3 AM?' he thought. 'No wonder I'm so damn tired...' He yawned. 'Oh well, only twenty or so more papers to sign. I get those done and I've got the next coupla days off.' The nation sighed and pulled the stack of papers towards him again, before spotting another thick stack next to his chair.

"Fuck," he grumbled. But he set them next to the first pile and got back to work.

So absorbed was America in his work that he didn't hear the lock click open, didn't notice the subtle temperature drop once the door eased open. It wasn't until those large gloved hands clapped down on his shoulder that he stiffened.

"Working late, Америка?" Air with a hint of vodka stirred Nantucket as the larger nation bent over him, scrutinizing the paperwork.

'Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!' His gun was currently in one of the desk drawers, he was too tired to remember which. There was no way he'd be able to get to it in time.

Trying to keep his voice steady(he was the hero, dammit, he wasn't scared, no, not at all), Alfred asked, "What are you doing here, Ivan?"

"I was just leaving my office and noticed your light was on."

"The door was locked."

"I know." The Russian's large hands squeezed his shoulders. "You don't look well, Америка." He leaned in so that he could whisper directly into the American's ear. "You're far too tense. I know a way to make you relax."

Being America, and therefore paranoid as hell, he immediately suspected the worst.

"Get the hell away from me!" he snapped, trying to lash out. The elbow meant for the Russian's gut hit the armrest of his chair instead, causing America to gasp in sudden shock. His shoulders and neck, following his elbow's cue, throbbed in pain. His lower back joined the chorus, protesting its forced position for the last few--was it six? Seven? Ten?--hours.

Russia spun the chair around, lifting Alfred into his arms. "I will make the pain go away now, da?" he said cheerfully. Before the other nation could protest, Russia used one hand to sweep the carefully piled papers onto the floor, laying Alfred, not feeling so much the hero now, onto the cleared desk.

"Wh-what are you..." He was silenced by a gloved fingertip on his lips.

"Shh. You have been working too hard. I know just the thing to help you relax."

Alfred tried to struggle, but his cramped muscles adamantly refused to work properly. He could only lie there as the pale blond pulled off his gloves and long coat. He growled at Ivan as he shucked the American's jacket and tie, dropping them unceremoniously at the side of the table before slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

"Stop-ah!" Blue eyes glared at the tall man. "Your fingers are fr-EEEEEEzing!"

"They will be warm soon enough."

"What the hell are you trying to do, invade me when I'm down?"

"Нет. Now be quiet."

Once America's shirt had been taken care of, Russia flipped him so that he was now standing, bent over the desk with his back to the other. America tried looking over his shoulder before his aching neck reminded him that that would be a bad idea.

Something cool and liquid and smelling of cloves drizzled lightly over his skin, making him jump. "What the f-"

"Massage oil."

For someone with such big hands, he could be so gentle, America thought as Russia rubbed it into his back, gently kneading here and there.

"O-ohhh..." Damn, it felt so _good_, those thick fingers pressing into the sore muscles of his neck, his shoulders, his lower back, taming the pain, loosening the tension. America slumped on the desk, barely remembering to keep his knees from giving out because he just felt so relaxed... And then there was sudden pressure, the fingers and palms turning rough, and Russia was leaning against him so he could get a better angle. America couldn't help the yelp of surprise as Ivan's hands now conquered the pain, beating it back with the savagery of Tartars and Cossacks thundering over the steppes...

And then it was suddenly over. Alfred's knees had given out, Ivan's form pressing him against the desk the only thing keeping him from sliding to the floor. Those strong fingers turned from domineering to gentle again, kneading and rubbing and oh god he couldn't be turned on by something like this he couldn't he couldn't he couldn't...

He lay there breathing heavily for a moment before soft, cool lips pressed the skin just under his ear, and Alfred could smell that hint of vodka again.

"It would seem that instead of relaxing you I have excited you, da?" Ivan chuckled, nipping lightly at the American's neck. "What did you think?"

"A-ahh, I think you should...show me...again," he panted in response. "I don't think I'm...quite relaxed yet."

"Это было бы мое удовольствие," he whispered, pulling the shorter man up into a searing kiss. "It would be my pleasure."


End file.
